What It Is To Burn
by Reidash
Summary: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Set after the events at the climax of X-Men 3: The Last Stand. Contains an original character, avoid if you dislike them. Rated M primarily for language. Pyro has a pottymouth.


It had been hours. The world was nearly destroyed from Alcatraz Island outward; of course, the X-Men saved the day. What a bunch of bullshit, Pyro thought. That's right, _Pyro. _He wasn't "John" anymore. The Australian-American pyrokinetic had defected from them for several reasons, the most prominent being the morals that the X-Men practically force upon their students. Killing? No big deal. If it had to be done, he would gladly do it – hell, he'd probably do it even if he didn't have to. And that possibility was looking much more attractive as he awoke in a daze, unaware of his surroundings. It was familiar, yet so very foreign. He identified it as the infirmary of the X-Mansion. After Bobby "Iceman" Drake knocked him out at the showdown at Alcatraz Island, he had apparently been dragged back to the school. The place he left by his _own _accord. He didn't remember who it was that pulled him out of there, but he knew they weren't getting a thank you note. Once his vision cleared and his head stopped throbbing enough to observe the situation a little more clearly, Pyro got a clue: brunette, about 5'5", Asian-American, and _really _pissed off.

Hotaru had changed a lot since John departed from the mansion. Before, John was her _only _friend. Now she had plenty to go around – even if she didn't think it herself: she was part of the team. Yet when her former best friend, perhaps something even more than that, was in danger, enemy or not…she was left with no choice. She had been there for hours. Pyro knew it. He had no idea how long he had been out, but the horrible headache, aside from the headbutt Iceman had given him, was a good indication that he wasn't conscious for a while. The young male sat up, wincing and cringing in the process, and immediately adjusted his muscles; he was as stiff as a corpse. He finally got a glimpse at a digital clock atop a desk: it was 4 in the morning. If he could just quietly leave, that would be the best.

"You're finally awake," a bitter, but slightly relieved female voice rang out from nowhere. Pyro didn't jump, but he was quite alarmed by the fact that his old friend was awake. Her head lifted only slightly, one violet eye squinting open under unkempt brunette bangs. She looked pretty shitty, herself. It was a sight for sore eyes, however, a nice one at that…but he released that feeling of comfort she brought almost as quickly as it came to him.

"You stalking me now?" he spoke up in a hazy voice, wit being his only answer to this awkward, undesired situation. He didn't _want _to be here. He didn't _want _to see her again. Not her, not Bobby, not anyone.

"_Fuck _you, John." By how plainly she stated it, it was clear that Hotaru had been holding in the aggressive statement for quite some time. "I saved your life. The least you can do is show a _little _appreciation."

"Hey." Pyro immediately scowled defensively. "I'm here against my will. Don't take this shit out on _me._"

Hotaru guffawed in disbelief. He still had his nerves, at least. He was still John, even if he didn't call himself such. "What, did you think I wasn't gonna be here? Think I _wasn't _stillgonna be mad at you?" That was when she stood up fully, the most serious he had probably ever seen her. She approached him sternly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning her hips against the bed he had recovered in. "You have no idea what you put me through, John."

"_Pyro._" He corrected her without any delay. It stung. "When the fuck did you get so sentimental?"

"_Listen_ to me," she hissed. "Why the _fuck_…" she paused to regain her composure. "Why couldn't you even say goodbye?"

Pyro would never forget the look in her eyes when she saw him setting projectile cars afire on that bridge. What the fuck _was _that look? Horror? Relief? It couldn't have been _joy. _There was no way. The pain in her tone was excruciatingly obvious; it almost made his bruises hurt a bit worse, but guilt was no longer a part of him. He simply shrugged, feigning apathy. Being a dick kind of came with the Magneto alliance. "Would it have made a difference?"

"_Yes._" There was no hesitation whatsoever in her response. Hotaru had been thinking about the day they would meet again for a very long time, and it was all pouring out. She missed him dearly. "It would have made _worlds _of difference."

For once, Pyro wasn't sure what to say. He scratched his neck awkwardly, staring at the wall. He _hated _awkward silences, so he bluntly asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Would you have come with me?"

Hotaru turned to meet his eyes for the first time since Alcatraz Island. This time they weren't fighting on the opposite sides of the field. This time, they were just talking. It was like old times. Hotaru had to think about his question for a moment, but once it came to her, she was sure of it. Her voice lowered; more gentle, more melancholic. Truth be told, she knew the answer all along. "Yes."

He couldn't help but to stare briefly. Again, he was baffled into silence. Hotaru broke it this time.

"_Then_, I would have. You were my only friend, John."

He didn't bother to correct her this time. His grip on the tissue paper lining of the bed tightened nervously, causing the only sound in the room to be the wrinkling of that paper in the face of another bout of wordlessness. If only he had a lighter, a spark, a match, _anything – _he could bust out of this uncomfortable situation and these walls he despised so much.

But if there was one plus to being behind those walls again it was that she was there too.

"This time…" Hotaru spoke meekly. _Meekly. _She was _never _meek. She was near tears, but hid the fact with brunette bangs. "At least say goodbye."

Without any further words, Hotaru retrieved a small object from her pocket, sliding it to where his hand lie on the paper cover, making only the slightest of contact before removing her hand. It was his old Zippo. Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer: that was the only thing going through her mind as she fought off crying in front of that jerk. Her pride had diminished enough because of him.

Gripping the lighter tightly, Pyro slowly rose to his feet, maintaining the proximity their positions had naturally left them in. Not much had changed after all. He still had a true friend in this fucking place, even if he had no intentions of returning. For once, he didn't mind silence.

But it had to be broken. A delicate flame flickered from the tip of the Zippo, before the metal top snapped it out. Just like old times indeed.

"See ya, Sparks."


End file.
